


Infinite Shades of Blue, Meant Nothing Until You

by newbie93



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:16:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4252518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newbie93/pseuds/newbie93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma Simmons decides at an early age that having a soulmate is a real downfall, and that she absolutely hates the color blue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Infinite Shades of Blue, Meant Nothing Until You

**Author's Note:**

> It seemed like a good enough time as any to add the obligatory 'Soulmate AU' to my fic repertoire.
> 
> This take on the soulmate notion is one taken from the pitch of an individual being able to see every color in the spectrum EXCEPT whatever color their soulmate's eyes are (until you meet them). i.e You can't see blue if your soulmate's eyes are blue; brown if their eyes are brown... etc.
> 
> This was a quick-write and an even quicker edit so I apologize for any mistakes that I might have missed.

When Jemma Simmons is five years old her parents finally explain why the _Denim_ crayon in her box seems to be the exact shade as _Manatee_ and why, even on sunny days, for her the sky is just a never-ending grey expanse.

It starts with a deliberate question: “Why do daddy’s grey shirts look the same as his blue ones?” 

She asks it at the breakfast table one morning, expression not quite innocent enough to hide the curiosity that is brimming beneath the surface. 

She’s still young but her intelligence far exceeds the other children her age and her parents were aware that they’d likely have to have _the talk_ with their daughter far sooner than one would normally expect. 

So they’re prepared, as much as they can be in this situation, and exchange a look before turning to her simultaneously and responding to her question with one of their own, “Darling, do you know what a soulmate is?” 

She of course responds with one of the vague definitions she’d come across in her previous readings and her parents nod knowingly at this before explaining that, unlike most of the other fables and fairytales of the world, soulmates are very much a real thing. Jemma listens with rapt attention as they explain the alleged wonders of having someone in the world that is inextricably linked to you but, as is often the case for her advanced mind, she finds her parents’ knowledge to be severely lacking.

 She doesn’t _tell_ them this of course, just nods along in contentment and mentally resolves to use her next trip to the library as an opportunity to ask Ms. Foster for a bit more information on the subject. 

The librarian, who seems to be the only person that is able to keep up with Jemma’s inquisitive questions, stares at her for a long moment when the young girl walks in the next day and asks her to use the Dewey Decimal Classification to find some, “literature on the science behind soulmates and color deficiency.”

Jemma peers at the librarian with a polite smile and waits for a solid minute before the lack of response causes her to tack an impatient, “ _Please,_ ” to the end of her sentence. 

The accompanying huff that they young girl releases seems to break the librarian from her stupor and she motions for Jemma to follow her as she leads her to a section of the library that Jemma had estimated she’d arrive at in approximately a year in a half since she was currently making her way through the building’s books in a clockwise rotation. 

Ms. Foster ( _Jemma how many times have I told you to call me Jane?)_ finally stops in front of a somewhat intimidating academia bookcase, eyes roaming the titles of the massive tomes before stopping on one that she quickly extracts and hands to Jemma with a look that the young girl can’t quite make sense of. 

Jemma spends the afternoon pouring over the book that Ms. Foster had given her and ignoring the giggles coming from the kids her age who are listening as some nameless adult reads from an equally nameless Dr. Seuss book. 

Her eyes scan over the carefully typed letters of the textbook, brows furrowing as she processes the words she understands and furrowing even more as she glosses over the ones she doesn’t. 

At the end of the day when her mother comes to pick her up, Jemma marches over to the reference desk, plops the thick book down on the counter, and requests to check it out for a week. 

 _Jane_ shoots Jemma’s mother a look above the small girl’s head and, at the other woman’s shrug of defeat, she scans the massive piece of literature and gingerly places it in the arms of the bright little girl whose eyes barely reach the top of the desk. 

Jemma spends the rest of the evening reading through the book, taking diligent notes about the hows and whys of this seemingly otherworldly connection that she apparently has with a complete stranger. She reads through dinner, ignoring her parents’ request that she comes down to join them, and even reads through dessert despite the fact that her father had brought home her favorite apple cobbler.

She reads until her eyes grow weary and the hand gripped tightly around her flashlight begins to tire. 

When she finally shuts the massive compilation of academic journals, Jemma does a quick rundown of the facts she’s learned.

 

  1.     Not everybody has a soulmate
  2.     Those who _do_ have a soulmate only experience... effects... if said soulmate exists in the same lifetime
  3.     Having a soulmate in the same lifetime means spending an unknown portion of your life not being able to see a specific color
  4.     She, Jemma Simmons, most certainly has a soulmate



 

 _That’s_ why her box of crayons seems to have an unusual amount of grey, because the person she’s been linked to since birth has blue eyes. 

Jemma shuts her eyes and thinks that having a soulmate sounds like more of a hindrance than anything. 

As someone who excels at most things, not being able to fully see the colors of the rainbow because of something entirely out of her control infuriates Jemma. She grows irritated with this mysterious person in the world that she is laughably destined for because he or she is the reason that so much of her world is grey. 

Jemma Simmons decides at an early age that having a soulmate is a real downfall, and that she absolutely _hates_ the color blue.

 

-O-

 

When she’s eight years old, Jemma discovers that, despite having a wide array of _truly_ fascinating coral and marine life, the aquarium isn’t all that fun. 

It would be if she were attending _herself_ , but unfortunately she can’t concentrate on the various species of marine plants when her classmates are oohing and ahhing at the bright aqua water that said marine life is floating in. Billy Koening is gushing about the different colors of the fresh water and salt water and, though Jemma is fascinated to hear that sodium chloride can impact color, the fact that she can’t actually _see_ the blues he’s talking about makes things a bit less thrilling. 

The small class works its way through the various exhibits and, with each step, Jemma finds herself growing increasingly irritated. The massive fish tanks that surround them, filled to the brim with more liquid than Jemma can calculate without proper schematics, are _teaming_ with bright orange clown fish, magenta anemone, and a purple octopus that Jemma spends ten minutes reading about from the plaques fastened to the wall. 

But despite _all_ of that, her peers can’t stop squealing about the blasted sharks swimming overhead. 

The sharks that Jemma thinks should be renamed, “ _Camoflage_ Selachimorpha,” because she has to press her face against the glass and squint just to make out the details of the dumb things. 

She can see their lighter bellies and black eyes, but their grey bodies blend in with the water they’re swimming in, which makes it _incredibly_ difficult for Jemma to see enough of them to do an accurate write-up for the worksheet given to her at the start of the field-trip. 

She jots down what she can but sighs in annoyance at the paltry description under _SHARK_ that pales in comparison to the borderline novels she’d written for the brighter animals and plants printed on the sheet. 

The rest of her class scurries forward through the aquarium but Jemma stays in place, glaring at the large water tank in front of her and silently cursing the nameless person that has ruined what she had _hoped_ would be an exciting field trip. 

Her eyes flicker all over the tank and Jemma can’t help but think that if _this_ is blue, it’s really nothing to get excited about.

 

-O-

 

When Jemma Simmons is ten, her parents decide to take a family trip to the coast. 

Jemma is initially thrilled at the prospect of seeing the ocean for the first time, excitedly jotting down all of the various biology she’s interested in discovering. She tells anyone who will listen about the trip for _weeks_ until it’s finally time to clamber into the Volvo and patiently wait the four hours it takes to drive from her house to the beach cottage that her parents had rented for the summer. 

She spends the car ride reading about all of the marine life in the area, flitting through her notebooks to remind herself of specifics, and growing more and more eager with each passing minute. When her mother turns around from where she’s seated in the front and tells her that they’re a few minutes away, Jemma excitedly shoves her notebooks aside and presses her face against the window. 

The excitement dissipates rather quickly once the family car pulls up over a sand dune and Jemma gets a good look at what comprises over 75% of the earth’s surface. 

She’s not entirely sure _why_ she’d expected anything different but, when she sees the never-ending body of grey water, Jemma feels an overwhelming amount of disappointment. A small part of her had hoped that, like most other things, the ocean in person would be far more interesting and awe-inspiring than it was in all of the pictures she’d seen. 

Unfortunately, the ocean looks _exactly_ like the bland pictures she’d poured over in the weeks leading up to this trip. 

She climbs out of the car with a frown and sighs in disappointment when her mother excitedly tugs her towards the waves a few hundred feet from the small cottage they’d parked in front of. For one reason or another, Jemma had assumed that the ocean would be an exclusion to the rule of soulmates. She’s viewed it as a separate entity for most of her life and didn’t think something so massive could _possibly_ be just as boring as the tap water at home and the fish tanks at the aquarium. 

Jemma doesn’t have the heart to tell her mother about her sudden disinterest in the Atlantic Ocean, and does her very best to plaster a smile to her face and let the cool water lap against her feet as they walk along the shore. 

Her summer is spent collecting shells, studying the small crabs that burrow into the sand, and largely ignoring the grey mass that looks as though it could swallow her whole. 

On the last night before they head home, the Simmons family sits on the beach and watches the sunset. They settle down for an evening picnic an hour before the sun goes down and Jemma listens as her parents marvel at the blue English sky and it’s reflection in the water below. 

Jemma can’t help but bitterly think that both the sky and the ocean look awfully grey to her.

 

-O-

 

When Jemma is fifteen, the closest thing she has to a friend decides that it’s time to be a bit more rebellious. 

She tags along with the other girl, who’s really just in Jemma’s life out of convenience more than anything, to the local drug store and waits impatiently as her neighbor stands in front of the few hair dyes available in the small shop- contemplating which vibrant color will upset her mother most. 

Jemma recommends the fuchsia color that she _knows_ will cause Mrs. Palamas to have a fit, but her friend shakes her head with a grin before snatching a different box from the shelf. 

Kara flashes it quickly in her direction and Jemma can feel her eyebrows raise as she studies the dyed hair on woman covering the box. She squints at the image for a long moment before tilting her head and looking back at her friend with a doubtful expression. 

“Are you _sure_ that’s the color you want to go with?” 

Her friend nods delightedly and all but sprints to the register while Jemma ambles behind and tries to understand how someone who’s technically three weeks _older_ than her could seem so much younger. 

Two hours later Jemma is sitting on the floor of Kara’s bathroom, staring at the other girl in horror as she takes in the streaky greys and silvers that have taken over her previously brown hair. Her eyes are wide and her lips are pressed in a thin line as she moves to lift a piece of the freshly dyed hair. Her dubious expression is obvious and, when she makes eye contact with Kara in the mirror, Jemma has to try her very best to school her features and make herself seemed less appalled by the other girl’s life choices. 

“Is it really that bad?” 

“No it’s… I mean… your mother will definitely be upset but… but… why on _earth_ would you want to dye your hair _grey?!”_  

This causes peals of laughter to escape her friend’s mouth that immediately startles Jemma out of her confusion. It takes another minute for the other girl to stop laughing and, when she finally manages to catch her breath, Kara reaches into the small garbage can and tosses the previously discarded hair-coloring box towards Jemma. 

“Just _read it_ Simmons.” 

Jemma scans the box, grimacing slightly at the grey hair of the model before her eyes catch the word BLUE typed in neat font in the upper corner and she feels a wave of irritation course through her body. 

“Oh.” 

She chuffs out the single word with the same bitterness that always seems to plague her when reminded of the one thing that she still doesn’t excel at despite years of practice: distinguishing blue from grey. She tosses the box back into the bin with a face of disgust and crosses her arms as she looks back at her friend.

“I suppose that makes more sense then.”

This causes another laugh to escape her friend and, as the other girl turns back around to finish drying her hair, Jemma can’t help but think that fuchsia would have been a much better choice for a semi-permanent hair color than one as ugly as _blue._

 

-O-

 

When Jemma is eighteen, she tumbles into bed with a boy from her university. 

They’d spent the evening in a dim pub, exchanging stories and downing various types of ale, and had left with their lips fused together and their hands roaming over each other’s bodies. 

The taxi ride had been quick and, much to Jemma’s delight, the boy hadn’t fumbled with the keys to his single dorm room.

There had been a flurry of clothes before their bare forms had tangled together and Jemma had begun to lose herself in the new feeling of pleasure that such intimacy could cause. 

She’s now on the cusp of _something_ when she notes the deep color of his eyes and feels an odd pang reverberate through her chest. The passion and excitement seems to dwindle instantly, which doesn’t matter much because her partner gives one last erratic thrust after she realizes that his eyes aren’t grey and collapses on top of her with a groan. 

Jemma leaves his room with a small smile and an even smaller wave, promising to call when she has some more free time in her busy schedule. 

She walks to her own dorm knowing that it was a blatant lie, she’s not going to call the boy with eyes that match her own. 

For Jemma, there’s nothing special about the color brown.

 

-O-

 

When Jemma is twenty-one, she’s sitting on her roommate’s bed as they pass a bottle of wine between them and commiserate about how much having a soulmate _sucks._

“I have brown hair Simmons, _brown hair,_ and I don’t even know what that _means!”_

Skye takes another long swig from the bottle before sighing in exasperation and flopping backwards onto the bed. Jemma nods at her friend’s lamenting and readies herself for the same argument that this topic of conversation _always_ leads to. 

“Yes, that’s unfortunate. _Almost_ as unfortunate as not knowing what _blue_ is.” 

Skye groans at Jemma’s rebuttal but, surprisingly, instead of launching into another debate about how not knowing brown is _definitely_ worse than not knowing blue, she just nods her head in commiseration as she looks up at the ceiling. 

Jemma is a bit stunned by her friend’s reaction and stares at her for a few long moments before Skye catches her gaze. Her expression must make her confusion rather obvious because Skye sighs slightly before fiddling with her hands. 

“I chosethe name Skye for a reason Jemma. Blue is my favorite color and every time I’d look up as a kid and see the endless expanse of it… I dunno. I love it, and you can’t see it and it _does_ suck.” 

Jemma’s mouth falls open in surprise as she gazes down at her friend and she feels something catch in her throat. 

“How come you never said anything?” 

Skye sits up with a sigh and looks at her with an expression that causes Jemma’s chest to tighten. 

“Because how could I tell you that you’re missing out? What kind of person would tell their best friend that the _one_ thing they couldn’t see makes up some of the most spectacular things in the world?” 

Jemma blinks at this, tears prickling her eyes as Skye voices something that she’s always secretly known. A single color wouldn’t make up so much of the universe unless it’s something truly extraordinary and, as has often been the case as of late, Jemma feels a desperate yearning to _see._  

She snatches the wine from Skye, draining the bottle in a few long pulls, and sets it on the bedside table. She watches a small drop of the crimson liquid drip down the side of the bottle and wishes more than anything that she could see blue as clearly as she can see red.

 

-O-

 

When Jemma is twenty-four, she’s aimlessly walking the streets of her newest city of residence and wondering how she’s winded up in sunny California. 

Her and Skye’s impromptu move west had seemed like a spectacular idea until both girls settled into their new apartment and realized that they had no clue what to do next. The initial panic hadn’t lasted long though, Jemma’s numerous contacts had quickly landed her a job working in the science division of an up-and-coming organization and _Skye’s_ general charm and extraordinary people skills had gotten her a position in the tech department of the very same company. 

Their official first day at SHIELD isn’t for another week, so Jemma has taken it upon herself to get a lay of the new land while Skye has taken it upon herself to get as much sleep as possible before being forced into the life of a working woman. 

It’s late afternoon now and Jemma is walking around Ocean Avenue, nose buried in a book as her feet carry her forward. She hears the sound of the waves crashing to her right and resolutely refuses to look up from the worn pages to see the famous beaches that Santa Monica is so known for. She tilts her head down even more and tries to block as much of the surrounding sights as she can. 

This of course means that in the next second she’s crashing into another person, causing her book and his phone to clatter on the ground. Jemma groans inwardly at her idiocy and she hastily bends down to scoop both of the fallen items from the patch of grass they’d fallen on. She holds the phone out, eyes flitting over it to make sure there’s no visible damage, and begins to frantically apologize before looking up and instantly growing silent.

Her mouth falls open as she looks at the man in front of her and feels her heart begin to hammer in her chest as her brain processes what it is she’s actually seeing. 

“Woah.”

She hears the word leave his mouth at the same time an audible gasp escapes hers. They simultaneously take a step closer to each other and Jemma _knows_ that the stranger in front of her, whose wide eyes haven’t left hers, is likely feeling just as stunned as she is. 

Because his eyes are something she’s never seen before and Jemma instantly knows that _this_ is what her old classmates had gotten so excited about in that aquarium. _This_ as a hair color would certainly cause a parent to throw a fit. _This_ is what the ocean must really look like. 

This is _better._

It’s indescribable and, despite having memorized every synonym for, and shade _of_ , blue by age six, Jemma can’t seem to find one in her mental rolodex that accurately describes the swirling colors in front of her. 

Navy, cerulean, azure… none of them seem to do these eyes justice. 

“ _Woah!"_

He says it again as he steps closer and his hand appears seemingly out of nowhere in her peripheral vision to tilt Jemma’s face towards him. Surprisingly, she isn’t bothered by the contact. She’s not startled or upset. In fact, she finds that she doesn’t much care at all about him invading her space. She’s _glad_ he’s doing it because it means that she can be just as bold with him. 

She takes another step closer, their chests almost touching now, and peers up with an expression that she’s certain is just as inquisitive as the one that seems to be a permanent fixture on him.

They gaze at each other in stunned silence for what seems like forever, and yet still doesn’t seem long enough for Jemma to take in all of the minute colors swarming in this man’s irises. After awhile, her eyes begin to take in more of him and she notes the symmetry of his face and the golden hues that emerge as the sun hits his hair.

His mouth is opening and closing and in the next second his hands have moved from her face to her hair. He holds a clump of it between his fingers and tilts his head as he bends closer and looks at it in awe. The movement causes Jemma to see the backdrop behind him and she gasps once again as her eyes focus upwards on the bright bluesky that is freckled with a few stark white clouds. 

She feels the tears begin to gather in her eyes as she shifts her head and gazes at the blue jeans she’s wearing, the sapphire ring given to her by her late grandmother, and back up at the sky, the truly wonderful _sky,_ and beams at the sight. 

She’d grown to assume that, in a world with over seven billion people, this day would never come. She’d silently convinced herself that her life would be endless shades of grey and her eyes and mind would never truly understand the concept of blue. 

But now she’s standing in the sun with her eyes focused on the sweeping sky, reveling in the beauty of this new color. 

When she turns back to face the man, his eyes are flitting around much like hers were. 

A group of trees seems to entrance him and Jemma watches as his eyes seem to follow the brown trunk until the branches get lost in a see of green leaves. Jemma can see that his eyes appear to be just as moist as hers and, when his gaze shifts back to her, she lets out a watery laugh that causes him to launch himself forward and crush her into a hug that fills her with as much warmth as the sun that is beating down on them. 

She doesn’t hesitate to hug back, so eternally grateful that this person, this complete _stranger,_ has given her a gift that she’d given up wishing for. 

“Brown.” 

He mumbles it into her hair and she wonders if he’s even aware that he’s _said_ anything because when she responds with, “ _Blue,_ ” the man pulls back and stares at her for a long moment before bashfully hanging his head as his hands move away from her and move to rub at his neck in what Jemma already knows is a nervous gesture. 

When he glances up again, his eyes are still shinier than Jemma thinks they’d normally be and he opens his mouth to speak before snapping it shut. This happens a few times before Jemma’s grin breaks out across her face and she extends her hand forward with a soft, “I’m Jemma.” 

The man stares at it for a few long moments before his own tremulous smile returns as he grabs her hand with his own and just as softly says, “I’m Fitz.”

 

-O-

 

The next few hours are spent switching between awed silence and constant chatter and Jemma revels in both.

After the initial moments of awkwardness, Fitz had tentatively asked if she’d like to take a walk and Jemma hadn’t hesitated to say yes. 

Ten minutes in, they’d stumbled upon their first commonality and had eagerly launched into a discussion of the upcoming series of Dr. Who. The conversation had flowed effortlessly after that, only stopping when one or both would catch sight of something that looked completely from the time before they’d gotten access to the complete color spectrum. 

There are moments where their laughter comes close to transforming into grateful sobs and Jemma is happy to know that she’s experiencing this onslaught of pigment and emotion with someone who understands how much the addition of a single color can have on one’s view of the world. 

By the end of the evening they end up at the pier where Jemma and Fitz both seem to be equally excited by the sights. Their chatter putters out once they both take in the visual of the bright lights and various carnival attractions, both distracted by different things. 

Fitz’s eyes are roving over the weathered wood that they’re walking along, seemingly entranced by the varying shades of brown that she herself has always taken for granted. 

While his eyes are focused on dry land, Jemma can’t tear hers away from the ocean that surrounds them. 

Tears prickle her vision once again as her gaze flits across the water and towards the sky. She can’t quite believe that she’s spent _twenty-four_ years thinking that anything so beautiful could possibly be _boring._ The depths of the water are striking and Jemma catalogs each varying shade of blue that, when combined together, creates such a stunning and intricate sight. 

She thinks back to that summer as a young girl and wonders how much differently her past self would have viewed the ocean if she had the ability to truly see it. 

Her eyes continue to roam over the horizon, separating the light sky from the dark ocean, and she bites her lip to fight the grin that is threatening to consume her. 

She and Fitz are both silent and, while said silence is companionable, Jemma feels the sudden urge to once again hear the Scottish brogue that already sounds like home. She shifts against the railing to face him and feels the breath catch in her throat as she catches sight of his profile and realizes who exactly it is she’s looking at. 

She’d been so excited about finally being able to see these new hues of blue that she hadn’t fully processed the fact that Fitz is her _soulmate._

Her _person._

He’s the one individual in seven billion that the universe had decided is her perfect partner and he’s standing right in front of her.

Her mind flits back to her short-lived boyfriends and one night stands as she remembers gazing into their eyes and _knowing_ that somewhere in the world was someone that she was _supposed_ to be looking at. 

And now she is. 

She takes the time to study him as he leans over the railing and peers at the weathered wood, and can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of _right._

The sun is setting, blue now fading from her vision and being replaced only by him. She peers at him thoughtfully, a small smile growing on her face, and feels something flutter in her chest when he finally looks up and catches her eye. 

There’s an unbridled enthusiasm in his expression that’s infectious and Jemma finds herself wanting to see this face in front of her every day for the foreseeable future. 

She shifts along the railing, moving closer to him until their shoulders are touching and the hands resting along the wood are a few scant millimeters apart. She can see him staring at the small space between their pinkies and takes the opportunity to tilt her head back towards him. 

“Fitz?” 

He blinks slowly, seemingly needing to snap himself out of the daze that their proximity has caused, and turns to face her with a soft smile and a raised eyebrow. 

“Hmm?” 

She shifts again to face him fully and bites her lip for a moment as she decides whether or not she has the courage to do what she desperately wishes to. Her scientific mind runs through all of the pros and cons before stuttering to a halt at the final bullet point added in the positives category: _you’re soulmates._

The thought causes Jemma to straighten her shoulders and gaze at Fitz with as much confidence as she can muster. 

“Can I try something?” 

His eyes flicker down to her lips and she knows that _he_ knows what exactly it is that she’s asking. When his gaze returns to hers, Fitz nods slowly, taking a step closer to her, and Jemma smiles as she mirrors his movements and shifts nearer to him. 

They make eye contact for a long moment, blue eyes locked on brown, before one or both of them move simultaneously and they are suddenly kissing. 

The press of his lips against hers is both new and familiar and Jemma can’t help but think that the universe did a pretty good job where Leopold Fitz is concerned. 

The thought seems to break something in her because Jemma is suddenly pressing herself closer, arms thrown around Fitz’s neck and lips moving with a fervor that she’s never experienced before. Fitz matches each movement and their lips move in synchrony as his hands grip her waist and his heart beats wildly against hers. 

When they break apart and she peers into his eyes, grin plastered on her face and blood thrumming beneath her skin, Jemma can’t help but think that blue might just be her favorite color.


End file.
